


Not on the wall chart

by solrosan



Series: All mobile phones should be turned off for the duration of the flight [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Undecided Relationship(s), Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the last thing Anthea thought would happen when she spilled her Gin & Tonic on a pilot in Frankfurt two years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not on the wall chart

**Author's Note:**

> A bigger than usual thank you to zedille for her work on this. I'm so sorry for my terrible timing and sending you the first draft during finals. And perhaps even more sorry for not showing you the final draft. Why do you even put up with me?

It wasn’t hot in the auditorium. It was never hot in this auditorium! She had been freezing her arse off in the back of it for years. She’d been freezing in here in the middle of _July_. 

It was _not_ hot in here!

Anthea exhaled slowly. Her body refused to listen to her reasoning as she stood next to Mr Holmes, listening to the energy debate. She couldn’t focus on what they were saying on the floor – which annoyed her, she really cared about this – because her discomfort took presence over everything else. She didn’t feel right in her own skin, and her tongue felt slightly too big for her mouth. She made yet another attempt to stand up straighter, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Like the other half-dozen times she had done this in the last 20 minutes, it did very little to ease her nausea. 

Finally she admitted defeat and leaned closer to Mr Holmes, whispering: “I’m going to step out for a moment.”

He gave her a curious look. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” she said, already turning away to leave.

Outside in the corridor, where it actually was much cooler, she sank down on a nearby marble bench. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She could feel her hands trembling, but sitting down made her feel marginally better. Even though she didn’t feel the need for it – at least not yet – she wondered if throwing up would help at all. She also wondered if all women felt as stupid and weak in this situation as she did, or if she just felt that way because she had been sure biology wouldn’t beat her, that she would be stronger than this. Somehow.

Mr Holmes came out in the corridor; she would recognise his step anywhere. She felt a bit embarrassed, because he had obviously left the debate to come and check on her. She opened her eyes when he was standing before her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, sir,” she said, smiling faintly. “Well, not technically at least. I’m just pregnant.”

His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, making her laugh. She had never managed to surprise him before.

“You’re getting a bit unobservant, sir.”

“Appears I am,” he said. He sat down next to her. “The pilot?”

“His name’s Martin – like you don’t know, I’ve heard what you and Sherlock did.” She took a deep breath through her nose again, breathing out through her mouth. “But yes.”

“Have you told him?”

“No, he’s been flying around South America for the better part of a month, and I don’t think this is the type of news you tell someone over the phone.”

“Mm, perhaps. Are you planning to keep it?”

She chuckled. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, _sir_.”

“I’m asking as your friend.”

“I know,” Anthea mumbled, resting her head against the wall again. After a while she said: “I don’t know. This wasn’t planned. Obviously. With my work and his work and… Well, he lives in Fitton. I live in London. I’m not even sure we’re a couple.”

“Things like that can be arranged. I’m certain we can find you a suitable place at the Foreign Office that—“

“You mean the Treasury.”

“Of course, a place at the Treasury,” said Mr Holmes, nodding once at her correction. “And I’m sure the Captain would be more than happy to take a position with a steady salary stationed out of London.”

“Are you planning some serious meddling, sir?”

“Only if you let me. I’m just saying that your jobs shouldn’t stop you, because knowing me has its advantages.”

She smiled, remembering how she had once told Martin that her idea of what was normal had become seriously distorted after taking this job.

“Do you _want_ to keep it?”

Anthea sighed. “I don’t know that either. I’ve always wanted children, but I’m actually quite in love with my life as it is. A baby doesn’t… fit into it. But I’m 35 – oh, don’t pretend to be surprised, I’ve seen what that actually looks like on you now.” She poked his arm, before she became more serious again. “What if this is it? What if this is my baby?”

“Perhaps it is.”

“That’s… not helpful, sir,” she said with a painful frown. Only half of it was acted. “I want _a_ baby, but I want to keep my job as well, and I can’t be both a mum and your PA.”

“No, you can’t.” Mr Holmes shook his head. “Everything comes with a price in this world, and if I’m to be completely honest, I can’t see you living my life.”

She looked at him, surprised and insulted, before she realised that he meant that he didn’t think she _wanted_ his life, not that she couldn’t handle it.

“Everything comes with a price,” he said again. “But if it’s your job you’re worried about, we can work something out. If it’s the Captain, well, I can’t help you there.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I’d want your help there.”

Mr Holmes took out his day planner. “When is he coming back?” 

“In four days.”

“Monday?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t see a reason why we both would need to be at the greenhouse gas meeting.”

“Because it’s my pet project, and you’re a control freak?”

Had it been anyone else, he would probably have ignored the comment. Now he rolled his eyes, a smile twisting in the corner of his mouth.

“You really think it’s all right if I go up there?” she asked. 

“I think I can manage a day, or two without you,” Mr Holmes said, putting away his planner. “As you said, this is not a conversation to have over the phone, and it’s at least somewhat time sensitive.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Mr Holmes nodded once. “Well, I should probably get back inside.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Take your time,” he said, getting up off the bench. “Do you need anything? Water, or…?”

“I’ll be fine, just go and make sure they don’t mess anything up in there.”

He grimaced, making her chuckle, but went back to the auditorium. 

Anthea closed her eyes and took another deep breath through her nose. “You can do this,” she whispered, not quite sure if she was talking about the rest of the debate, or the conversation that Mr Holmes had conveniently had planned for her on Monday.

* * *

“Oh, Martin,” Douglas said, smirking as they exited GERTI.

“What?” Martin muttered, trying to make sure he had all of his things with him.

“I think you have a welcoming committee.” 

“What do you mean?” Martin stepped out of the aeroplane and looked in the direction Douglas was pointing. At the end of the airfield was a shiny black car, and as they got down the stairs a woman got out. 

“Oh.” Martin stared and couldn’t stop the smile, or the blush, from spreading across his face. “She shouldn’t have come here. I- I still have to—“

“I’ll do that,” Douglas said, taking the binder from under Martin’s arm. “You go and have a nice, long shower for two.”

“Douglas, you don’t even know what to—“

“Oh, give me a little credit, _Captain_.” Douglas adjusted Martin’s hat. “I’ve been flying since you still wanted to be an aeroplane.”

“And you’ve been ignoring the paperwork for just as long.”

“Do you want to have sex tonight or not?”

“Douglas!”

“Go away. I’ll take care of this. And if I don’t…” Douglas shrugged. “Well, in that case we don’t have anything until Friday, and you’ll have plenty of time to do it later.”

“Okay, then,” Martin said. He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Douglas patted him on the shoulder and sent him off. 

Martin walked as fast as he could from GERTI, a bag in one hand and a backpack over his shoulder. This had been one of the longer jobs they’d taken in a while, and he was just glad to be back in Fitton. Finding Anthea standing at the airfield waiting for him was a wonderful bonus.

“Surprise, Captain Crieff,” she said when he came closer. She placed her hand on his cheek and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Yes,” he said, dropping his bag to hug her. “What are you doing here?”

“I have something I need to talk to you about,” she said. “Can we go to your attic?”

His arms slowly slipped away from her, and he took half a step back. “S-sure.”

Anthea took his hand and squeezed it. “Martin, it’s all right. Let’s just go back to your place.” 

Martin forced a smile. She kissed him on the cheek and opened the boot of the car for him to put his luggage in. 

“No driver this time?” he asked as they took their places in the front seat. 

“No,” she said, as she turned on the car. “I prefer to drive myself these days.”

They didn’t say anything else during the drive back to Martin’s place, as both of them felt too uncomfortable.

“I don’t think the others will be back until half four,” Martin said as he unlocked the door. “We could stay in the common area?”

“I don’t mind the attic,” Anthea said. She smiled as the house cat slipped past her and started to brush up against Martin’s legs, purring. 

“You might be the only one,” Martin muttered. He picked up the cat, affectionately rubbing its nose against his. “Do you want coffee?”

“When have I ever _not_ wanted coffee?” she asked. She followed him to the kitchen, picking up the bag he had abandoned in favour of the cat.

He made coffee in silence, the cat still around his legs. Anthea found it truly endearing to watch. Martin filled a thermos with coffee, muttering something about refills and stairs, before they finally made their way up to the attic.

“How was the flight?” she asked, mostly to have something to say, as he poured her coffee in a plastic mug.

“Flight _s_ ,” he said absently, sitting down next to her on the mattress. “Nothing terribly exiting happened. Though Arthur _did_ manage to get stuck in a revolving door in Luque.”

“Luque, hm, that’s Paraguay.” Anthea started to think out loud, counting something on her fingers. “SG- something, right?”

“Yes.” Martin chuckled. “It’s—“

“Shh, don’t tell me.” She slapped him on the thigh to shut him up. “SGES?”

“No, that’s in Ciudad del Este.”

“Then it’s SGAS?”

“Yes.” He looked at her with a combination of pride and admiration. No one else ever looked at her like that. Then he sighed, looking down at his hands instead. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“You…“ Martin lost his voice completely, and he just stared at her as the colour drained from his face. Then he realised that he needed to breathe, so he inhaled and exhaled loudly twice. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am.”

“Ho-how? I, I mean, am I too?”

“No, I’m fairly sure you’re not pregnant, Martin.” She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “But it’s yours.”

“B-bu-but condoms.”

Anthea shrugged.

“What…? What are we— What?”

Anthea shrugged again. Martin put down his coffee, rubbing his face, and then refused to look up. 

After almost a minute, Anthea put her hand on his arm and asked, “Are you all right?”

Martin removed his hands from his face, blinking repeatedly as if he was still processing the information. “I need a shower,” he blurted out.

“Martin,” Anthea sighed. 

He got up and started to put together a shower bag to take downstairs. When he was done, he just stood there, looking down at the items he had collected: towel, shampoo, clean underwear.

“I don’t have any money,” he said quietly, sounding lost. “I can’t support a family.”

“I know.” Anthea got up from the mattress as well, taking his hand. “But I can.”

“I, I sleep on a mattress on the floor. In an attic.” He looked absolutely destroyed. “I can’t be a dad. I sleep on the floor. I live in an attic. God, I…”

Anthea hugged him to shut him up. It worked wonderfully, and he held her tight. 

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispered, burying his face on her shoulder.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “This is nothing compared to my freak-out when I found out.”

He laughed nervously. “Are you, are you staying the night?”

“That was the plan, but if you don’t want me to I can leave.”

“No.” Martin let go of her, shaking his head. “Stay. I want— I want you to stay. It’s just, we need food. To make dinner. And I don’t have any. I’ve been away, I haven’t done any shopping. ”

“How about I order some takeaway, and you go and take that shower – because you _do_ need it – and then we eat and sleep and figure this out?”

“That… that sounds like a good plan.”

“I’m not just a pretty face and a good lay, you know.”

Martin blushed, though clearly trying to ignoring it. “There are menus in the top drawer left of the sink in the kitchen.”

“Anything you want?”

“Number 21 from Nem Nem Quan.”

“That’s specific.”

“If you’d been living on airport food and catering for almost a months you would be too.”

Anthea laughed. “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t want to try.”

“I’ll be done in about 20 minutes,” he said. “If any of the students come home…”

“I puppeteer the EU parliament for a living, Martin. I think I can handle a bunch of twenty-somethings,” she said, putting her hand on his chest. “Take the time you need in the shower, okay?”

Martin nodded, leaning in to kiss her, but stopped half-way. She kissed him before he had the chance to pull away. 

“See you later,” she murmured.

Martin nodded again, and they left the attic, Martin to take a shower and Anthea to order takeaway. About half an hour later they were back in the attic, sitting at Martin’s small table, both of them more playing with their food than actually eating it.

“Do you want children?” Anthea finally asked, using the uncomfortable topic to break the awkward silence. Martin looked just as startled now as when she’d told him she was pregnant.

“I mean, at all,” she continued. “In that vague idea of your future that everyone has, are there children? Could you see yourself as a dad?”

“Yes.” Martin didn’t even pause to think.

A wave of relief washed over Anthea. “Me too. So at least we’re on the same page there.”

“I never thought it would happen like this, though,” Martin said.

“Me neither.” She smiled slightly. “But to be completely honest, I have no idea how I would ever find the time to meet someone and settle down and get married and all that.”

Martin frowned. “That wouldn’t really suit you.”

Anthea shook her head at him. Perhaps it was the hormones, but that felt like the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. It also reminded her of what Mr Holmes had said about her not wanting his life, because deep down she knew both statements were true.

“Do you even, I mean, would you really want to have a kid with, with me?” Martin asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Martin blinked. “Okay, then. Really?”

“Really. And you?”

“What?”

Anthea laughed. “Would you mind terribly having a child with me?”

“Yes. I mean no! Of course I wouldn’t mind! No.” Martin looked shocked. “There are days I can’t even believe my luck that you’re talking to me.”

Anthea reached across the table to put her hand on top of his. “So, the big question then: what about this baby?”

“I don’t know,” Martin said, twining their fingers together. “Is abortion an option?”

“Definitely,” she said, nodding. “I don’t want to do this if you don’t want to be a part of it.”

Martin looked completely terrified. “So if I say ‘no’, you’re having an abortion?”

“I don’t know.”

“But if I say ‘yes’ we’re doing this?” 

“No, I don’t know.”

Anthea sighed, frustrated because she didn’t know what she wanted herself. She had thought of little else these last weeks, to the point that her performance on the job had been suffering, and she hated that. She hated that she was no closer to figuring this out than when she took the pregnancy test even more. She was about to push through the biggest energy reform in modern times, and she had started to draw up a national action plan to deal with future situations like the one in West Africa. She had no time in her life for a child! And even if she ignored her job, was this really a world she wanted to bring a child into at all? Europe was being overrun by neo-Nazis and right-wing extremists, Russia was trying to reinstate the Soviet Union, all while Scotland was trying to break free from their own Union, and the Prime Minister was talking about leaving the European one.

But if not this baby, then what baby? And when? It wasn’t as if the world would change for the better overnight, and she’d never run out of work. If nothing would force her to leave Mr Holmes’ service, then she never would. There was no ideal time for children, her mother had always said. There would, quite frankly, never be a time for a baby if she didn’t make the time. And to be honest, even if she’d said she wanted a child with Martin, and even if they had fucked all over Europe (and once in Israel) over the last two years -- the fact remained that they probably hadn’t spent a month’s worth of time with each other. She had no doubt he was a good genetic choice (she would be the first to admit that it was creepy that the first thing she’d done after finding out she was pregnant was pulling his medical records). He was loyal and committed, cute and funny, took his coffee black, and she probably had a bit of a crush on him. It was enough to start dating, but not enough to start a family.

Martin squeezed her hand, breaking her train of thought and prompting her to look up. He smiled tentatively, and she couldn’t not do the same. This probably wouldn’t be solved over Vietnamese in an attic, but she suddenly felt secure that whatever they decided, they would figure it out.

* * *

“Sir?”

It was Wednesday morning. Anthea knocked on the door to Mr Holmes’ office – the minor position one – and found him behind a messier-than-usual desk. She felt a sting of guilt for leaving him alone for two entire days, even if he had said it was all right.

“Good morning, Ms Somers,” Mr Holmes said. He was clearly distracted, but looked up nonetheless. “How was Fitton?”

“It was nice,” she said, frowning slightly. “But the drive was terrible. The exit from M45 to the M1 needs some improvement.”

“I think IUK’s budget is set for the year.”

“It is,” she said. “I thought it could be something to look into when I work at the Treasury.”

Mr Holmes tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir,” she answered his unspoken question. The smile she’d been trying to control finally broke out. “I’m going to have a baby.”

Mr Holmes smiled as well. “Congratulations.”

“I know it’ll be an inconvenience, but—“

“No.” Mr Holmes held up a hand. “None of that, this is the best news I’ve heard in weeks. How do you feel?”

“Honestly? I’m scared to death.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s normal.”

“Perhaps.”

“And the Captain, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Scared to death, too,” she said, chuckling. “But he’s going to look for a flat in London close to my place, if that’s what you’re asking. I convinced him to let me help him out with money until he finds a job so he can get a proper loan at the bank.”

“I’m sure we have some state rooms not currently in use where he could—“

“Get him a job, sir,” she said, chuckling again. She found it very hard to even pretend to be professional right now. “Leave the rest of the meddling to me. I’m better with finances, anyway.”

“Yes, what will I ever do without you?” Mr Holmes said, smiling more fondly than she had ever seen him. He reached for his notebook, and flipped to an empty page. “Domestic or international?”

“He would probably be bored only flying domestic, so, international.”

“Would he be all right with a first officer position?”

“As long as he’s getting paid to fly, I think he’d take anything.”

“Don’t underestimate male pride, Ms Somers.”

“Would never dream of it.” 

Mr Holmes hummed as he finished writing, and put away his notebook. He then lifted up a pile of three folders off the desk and handed them to her. 

“The carbon dioxide emissions meeting,” he said, as if that was the end of previous discussion. “You don’t have to bother at all with the first twenty pages of the transcript, but the attachments are quite interesting. Especially Naderi’s. Overall, it was a waste of time.”

She took the folders, smirking. “You always say that.”

“It’s because they always are.”

“We will all disappear into the ocean when I’m not around anymore, won’t we?” she muttered, already going through the first of the folders – she didn’t trust Mr Holmes’ judgement on this issue enough to not read the first twenty pages of the transcript. 

“Anthea,” Mr Holmes said, just as she was about to walk out of the office. “I’m truly happy for you.” 

She beamed. “Thank you, sir. I am too.”

“Good,” Mr Holmes said. “Otherwise I’m not quite sure I’d let you leave.”

“I’ll come by with tea in forty-five minutes or so,” she said, shaking her head. 

She lingered a bit in his office, watching him go back to work and tune out the world around him. It was a bit melancholy to think that she would leave his service, and that the folders under her arm might end up being the last big international reform that she oversaw, but truth be told, she wasn’t actually sad about any of it.

It was time for new challenges.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the last part of this series, I apologise for it taking me this long to bring around the end of the series. 
> 
> Thank you all for jumping on this ship with me, I honestly never thought anyone else could see it. You are all wonderful!


End file.
